


Cursed at First, But Mended

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Animals, Caretaking, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Marcus Aquila, recently invalided home from the war, has only weeks to arrange a marriage of convenience so that he can inherit his family's estate. A Regency Romance AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Eagle Big Bang 2012. Thanks to E., V., R., & J. for offering their expert opinions that I then mostly didn't take, so all the problems that remain are 100% my own fault. This is the most historically inaccurate Regency Romance to exist. \o/ 
> 
> Art is available at [link here eventually].

_Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing  
and rightdoing there is a field.  
I'll meet you there.  
When the soul lies down in that grass  
the world is too full to talk about._

— Rumi

 

1\. 

 

"Marcus, have you heard even one word I've said?"

His uncle's tone was more fond than reproachful, and when Marcus turned from his contemplation of the mist-covered lawns, Aquila's expression was patient. "Were I in your place, I would likely not listen to me, either," he said.

Marcus couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry, Uncle. It's only that I would -"

"Rather not think about it, I know."

"I hope I have not worn out my welcome."

He had been at Aquila's going on four months now, recovering from the wound that had seen him discharged from Her Majesty's Service. His uncle had been more than hospitable, taking Marcus into his home, boarding a doctor the first few weeks, allowing Marcus to hobble around the grounds with his crutch, eat his food, and stare out the sitting room window for hours at a time. 

"No," his uncle told him, "you must be assured by now that my welcome would know no end, if not for your father's will."

"To be honest, I have almost ceased to care about that," Marcus confessed. He turned back to the gloomy, autumn-shrouded view, knowing the look sure to be on Aquila's face. He didn't want to see it for the thousandth time.

"Come, now."

"No woman would have me, even in convenience." It was a fact Marcus had come to accept, as painful as it was. "I know you've made such inquiries on my behalf and I thank you for it, honestly."

"The doctors can't say for sure that there will be no children," Aquila said quietly. Marcus waved him off, and heard him stand. "Let me make one more inquiry of my solicitor for you, nephew. Perhaps we can solve this riddle yet."

"Fine," he ground out. 

The door shut firmly behind Aquila, leaving Marcus alone with his contemplations - and his ever-present crutch - once more. He gave a moment's thought to heaving it through the window in anger, but the house was hard enough to keep warm without missing panes of glass. 

Mrs. Sassticca brought him a cup of tea moments later, and a small plate with a scone. "You should eat something, dear."

"I'm fine."

She looked as though she wanted to press, but didn't. She made sure the tea and scone were within his reach, and left without another word. After a minute, Marcus picked up the cup, and was relieved to see his hand did not shake. The tremors had plagued him for months after the battle, and had only recently begun to subside. He hated it. The injury to his leg could not be helped, but the shaking had made him feel weak - and worse, useless. 

He'd regained some strength, but his leg would never be as it had been. The wound from the musketball was twisted and gruesome, and smaller shrapnel scars radiated outward, down his thigh and up over his hip. He could walk without too much trouble, but often needed a cane, depending on the weather. He hated the damned cane. 

There was a knock, and he turned in the chair. Aquila was lingering in the entrance to the sitting room, a sheaf of papers in his hand. "An unanticipated letter from my solicitor has arrived, addressing the very thing we were just discussing," he said. "He has perhaps a solution to your... problem."

 _Problem._ Uncle Aquila had always tried to be delicate about Marcus' misfortune, even on the days when Marcus shouted at his uncle to leave him be. "And what's that?"

"A contract marriage. He says it is the sort of thing that is mostly in name; a business agreement between two parties. You would provide to the other party a home, and..." Aquila trailed off, flipping between pages.

"And?" he queried, dreading the answer he was sure would come, that he would have to provide children. But his uncle only gave a patient smile. 

"There could be a stipulated end to the contract, and at the dissolution of the marriage, you would need to pay a sum to the other party."

Marcus turned it over in his mind. He was used to sharing quarters with people he barely knew, though that had always been men. "Such a thing would allow me to inherit fully?"

"He says yes. And you know you must hurry, the year anniversary of your father's death is the end of this month."

"I know, Uncle," Marcus replied. "How is this different than a marriage agreed upon on convenience?"

"With this, you may marry a person of either sex, and were it to be a woman, there would be absolutely no expectation of children unless agreed upon by both parties. It is less a marriage and more of a... business arrangement. A contract of joining, if you will." He looked down at the letter again, and said, "My solicitor writes that it is not all that common, but for the few cases he found referenced. They were situations such as yours, men returned home from long voyages to news of a death in the family, stipulations in various wills and the like." 

"I honestly did not know of such a thing." Of course, most of Marcus' acquaintances were unmarried military men who hadn't wanted to burden a woman with widowhood, England being at war.

Aquila raised his eyebrows. "Thoughts, nephew?"

"I would be twice as likely to find someone," Marcus conceded. He broke a piece from the scone, and dipped it in the tea. "But I would still have to find someone, and someone willing."

"You're not all that terrible to put up with." Aquila smiled. "Surely there are others in the same situation as you. I will make some inquiries, again." His tone was teasing, and Marcus smiled in return. 

"Thank you."

 

The following afternoon, Marcus was in the day room, composing a letter to his former commander when his uncle interrupted with a gentle knock on the doorframe. "Marcus, can I trouble you to ride over to Claudius Marcellus'?"

"No trouble, Uncle. I should like to get out into the fresh air for a while. The ink could stand to dry on this before I write any more, besides." Despite his best efforts, several words were smudged. He'd never been a proper student when it came to penmanship. "What message would you like me take?"

"Claudius is moving his household to America," Aquila said, "and he is looking to sell his horses before the trip."

"And you might purchase?"

"That, and I thought you might look into a horse or two of your own."

Marcus left his letter on the desk and took up his cane to walk to the stable. He saddled up the gray mare called Smoke by himself, and took a slow pace across the damp fields. The morning's fog had not lifted all that much, and the wetness clung to both Marcus and the mare as he let her amble through the long grass. 

The maid who met him at the front door of the house directed him to the stables, saying, "You'll find Mr. Marcellus out with the horses, Mr. Marcus. I think he feels most terribly about leaving them."

Marcus thanked her, and urged Smoke towards Marcellus' stables. He found Marcellus on the path, halfway. "Marcus!" Marcellus said, smiling. "What brings you?"

"Uncle Aquila asked me to ride over and see about your horses."

"Certainly, certainly. Come, I'll show you to the stables, and introduce you to Mac, my horseman." 

Marcus dismounted carefully and shook Marcellus' hand, then walked beside him towards the stables, cane in one hand and leading Smoke behind with the other. 

"Mac!" Marcellus called as they approached, and a man who seemed to be not much younger than Marcus came out of the stable, with russet-colored hair above a guarded gaze. He had a serious but handsome face, and Marcus saw he could not - or would not - control the proud set of his jaw. As he was bare-chested beneath a rough apron, Marcus could see the man's arms and shoulders muscled like a whippet. He was slim and none too tall, but Marcus would wager that he was deadly quick in a fight. On his hands were thick gloves, and he was holding a pitchfork. He looked unlike any horseman that Marcus had ever met, and Marcus found himself immediately intrigued. 

Marcellus gestured toward the man. "Mac is excellent with my horses; last year I had a new Arabian that I thought could not be broken, and he got her through it. I feel most awful that I cannot bring more than a few members of the staff to America with me, nor the horses. I don't suppose your uncle is interested? Or yourself, young Marcus?"

Marcus inclined his head. "It was why he sent me over."

"I will have Mac show you my best," Marcellus said, and gestured to the stablehand, who nodded and went back into the barn. 

After a moment's wait, he returned with a dark and glossy Arabian, with a shining mane and tail. "Ruby Slippers, sir."

The Arabian swished her tail and seemed to regard Marcus. "She's beautiful," he murmured, reaching out to run a hand over her strong neck. Marcellus thanked him, but it was the horseman's face that flashed an expression of pride. 

To be sure, Marcus asked of Marcellus, "You mean to sell all of your horses, even this mare?"

"I do. They cannot be brought on the ship, and I would much rather see them sold to an old friend than consigned to someone who might mistreat them, or worse."

He saw the groom wince at this, a flash in the man's grey eyes. "You have no other prospects?" Marcus asked him, and he shook his head. 

"No, sir."

"What shall you do?"

"Look for work on foot, I suppose." He looked resigned to his fate, a bitter set to his mouth. Ruby Slippers whinnied and stomped as if she was displeased. 

Marcus rubbed her soft nose. "I will talk to my uncle," he said, directing his statement to both of them. "I make no promises, but - I will speak with him. "

He started back to Aquila's, slowly, his mind turning over the question of the left-behind horses and the groomsman who looked at them with such pride, as though they were his and not belonging to Marcellus. Then a sudden strike of inspiration caused him to bring Smoke to a full halt halfway home. Marcus thought: _Mac the horseman is in a much worse situation than I; perhaps I can help. Perhaps we can help each other._

He turned Smoke around again towards the Marcellus stables, and found the stableman outside, holding an apple for Ruby Slippers to crunch. He looked up as Marcus approached, his expression guarded. "Mr. Marcellus has gone back up to the main house," he said.

"I'm not looking for Claudius," Marcus replied, then asked, "Your name is Mac?"

The horseman huffed. A tiny shake of his proud head. "My name is Esca, sir, but Mac is the only name that any of my masters have chosen to learn."

"Esca. I am Marcus."

Esca simply looked at him, as if to say _I was aware_. Marcus steadied Smoke, and then dismounted with care. He saw Esca mark his limp.

"You truly have no other options than to look for work on foot, once Marcellus is gone?" he asked, and Esca nodded. "You have no family?"

"My parents have been dead seven years, and I have been in service since."

Marcus judged him to be at most twenty years of age. He could not fathom being alone and having to seek work at thirteen, with no assistance. "Have you any schooling?"

"The reading and writing I know have served me well enough." He regarded Marcus with a suddenly curious expression, almost keen. "Begging your pardon, sir, but is there a reason for your interest? You were not gone long enough to return to Sir Aquila's and discuss the horses with him."

It was a sharp observation. Smoke nudged at Marcus' shoulder, and he touched her soft nose. "I do not mean to bargain for the horses at this time."

"What, then?"

Were any other servant to speak to him in such a way, Marcus would rebuke them, and firmly. But he felt no such desire to put Esca in his apparent place. He met Esca's gaze. "I have a proposition - purely business, for certain. But it would allow you to... improve your station."

"I would hear it," Esca said, after a moment's thought.

"My father died while I was away, in the War. He left a clause in his will that I could not inherit the full estate without marrying. But I am a mess," he said ruefully, "and no woman I am aware of will have me, even in convenience."

"You do not look a mess, sir."

Marcus inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment, which seemed sincere. "My uncle's solicitors have informed me that I can arrange for a contractual marriage - with anyone, regardless of their sex - on paper only. It seems the situation to both our problems, am I correct?"

"A contract. For what length of time?"

Marcus did not recall there being any set length of time, so long as more than a full year passed, and so answered, "Let's say - two years. Upon the close, I would gift you with a lump sum, which you could do with as you pleased, and you would also take with you any items acquired during the contract period."

As marriage proposals went, Marcus knew this to be a terrible and completely improvised one. But it was business, not love, nor any desire for children, and this could better both their situations. He held Esca's gaze, so to assure him that this was no joke. 

"You sincerely propose this - to me? I am merely a servant." But Esca did not sound convinced as he said it, and Marcus dared to hope that Esca had been waiting for a way out of his situation.

"At least come up to the Manor for supper," he urged. "So that we might talk before any decisions are made."

"I have duties -"

"I can arrange it with Marcellus."

"Very well. But I do not own much better, with regards to clothing."

Marcus assured him that anything was fine, so long as Esca was to wear a shirt, and not an apron. Esca looked at him a moment longer, his gaze searching, as though he was trying to find _something_ in Marcus. Marcus felt his cheeks pink slightly. Esca saw his flush, and looked satisfied. He extended a hand.

Marcus clasped it, and firmly. "Uncle Aquila and I take supper at seven. I will go speak to Marcellus at once, since it is nearing four, and I am sure you have things to finish. And Esca - you must surely call me Marcus."

Esca squeezed his hand, and Marcus realized with a start that he was still holding on. "Seven," he repeated.

"I will be there," Esca replied, "Marcus."

Marcus left him to complete his duties, and arranged a night off with Marcellus, who seemed to think Marcus wanted to introduce Esca to his uncle as a prospective hire and did not press. But Marcus knew his Uncle Aquila needed no more horsemen, and that his uncle's household could afford no more help besides. 

He guided Smoke back to the Manor, feeling both pleased and - if he was to admit - a bit apprehensive. He was sure Aquila would try to dissuade him from this, but Marcus was tired of his uncle's help, and of leaving his childhood home shut up empty, and likely rotting in places. He could not afford to send people for repairs until the money from his inheritance was released. He and Esca would have to stay with Aquila at least a month, while the house was opened and aired, and made livable again.

He admonished himself slightly for chafing at his uncle's charity, yet offering what was the same to Esca. But perhaps it was different enough. Marcus had always thought himself a relatively giving person; in the military he had enjoyed taking a few of the younger enlisted men under his wing and providing a bit of education. Until they had been sent to see combat in Spain he had with regularity pressed upon them treatises on warfare, for both the learning experience and as part of their military duty. 

Not that it had mattered much in the end. None of them had survived. 

But as much as he had hated the battles, Marcus still missed the Army, and cursed his wound under his breath as he steered Smoke towards Aquila's stables. He waved away Tomas' offer of assistance, telling the man instead to run up to the kitchens and inform Mrs. Stassticca there would be a third for dinner. 

Once inside the house, he went up to his bedroom to change into fresh trousers - his were now streaked and dotted with mud from riding, damp to the knee. As he struggled with the fabric, his mind turned ahead, composing mental lists of things that would need to be done to ready the house, and the knowledge that Esca would have to acquire should he accept Marcus' offer. He would certainly need a new wardrobe, Marcus decided firmly. 

"Marcus?" he heard his uncle call from down the stairs. "You have invited someone for supper?"

"Yes, Uncle," he replied. "I'll be down in a moment."

He set his worn trousers aside for the laundry and wiped clean his boots before pulling them back on. Then he limped down the stairs - they were much harder to descend than to climb up, thanks to the limited range of motion in his knee, and Marcus tried not to fret about the possibility of it collapsing underneath him, cane or no cane. Aquila stood with a querying expression at the bottom. "Surely not Marcellus," he said, with a hint of a smile. 

"No," Marcus chuckled. Then he composed himself, clasping his hands carefully behind his back. "His horseman, Esca. I have asked him to marry me."

"You've - what?"

"He will be here at seven," Marcus replied firmly.

He brushed past a shocked-looking Aquila and returned to his letter in the day room. But he could not focus. After spending a quarter of an hour staring down at what he'd already written, he set it aside with a sigh. There would be plenty to mention in the coming weeks if Esca was to accept his offer. 

At five to seven, Stephan opened the front door to admit Esca, in a plain shirt and trousers with his face scrubbed clean. He looked as nervous as Marcus, who had been lurking without apology near the staircase, was feeling. It was a strange emotion for Marcus, and it sat heavily on his lower ribs. 

"You did come," he said, reaching out to shake Esca's hand, briefly this time.

"Yes. What choice did I have?"

Marcus was slightly taken aback, but then resolved to consider this from Esca's viewpoint. "I apologise," he said, and quickly. "I honestly did not -"

"You didn't consider?" Esca asked, but with a slight smile, as though he did not take offense. "Marcus, were you in my position, you'd take this offer as well. It is better than any of my alternatives."

"I do not wish for you to be nervous."

"Am I to try to impress your uncle?"

"What - no. Surely not."

Esca did not look convinced Instead, Marcus thought he might look even more apprehensive than before. "It will be fine," he said, as much to himself as Esca, trying to sound reassuring. "Come, I'll show you to the dining room."

Mrs. Stasticca had brought out the meal while Marcus was welcoming Esca into the house: sliced, roast chicken, boiled potatoes with butter, cooked apples from the orchard, and small bread rolls. Aquila stood by the fireplace with his pipe; he turned when they entered.

"Uncle, this is Esca," Marcus said, keeping his voice firm. He watched Aquila's gaze skim over Esca's clean but threadbare and mended clothes, his scuffed boots. 

Then he reached to shake Esca's hand. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Shall we eat?"

After the serving dishes had been passed, Aquila asked Esca if Marcellus was selling his whole stable of horses. "Yes, sir," Esca answered, looking up from his plate. 

"Even his prized Arabian?"

"Yes, Ruby Slippers. He is asking thirty guineas if you are interested."

"A salesman, are you?" Aquila chuckled, and Esca flushed.

"No, sir - I merely..." He trailed off, as if measuring his next words. "I could not bear to see her sold to a man who might mistreat her, or sell her for meat. I would buy her myself if I could." 

He said the last part firmly, a defiant tilt to his head. Marcus resolved to buy Ruby Slippers at his earliest opportunity. 

"And what can you offer my nephew should you accept his ridiculous offer?"

"Uncle," Marcus growled under his breath, but if Aquila heard, he ignored it.

"I'm a hard worker. My size belies my strength. As Mr. Marcellus told Marcus, I'm a good hand with horses."

"What do you know of manor life?"

"I can learn what I don't know."

Aquila's mouth twitched. "I should like to see you and Marcus attempt the waltz."

"I would not," Marcus interrupted before Aquila could make some joke about how Esca would fare through a season in London, or worse, "with my leg."

"What happened to your leg?" Esca asked, turning his attention to Marcus as though dismissing Aquila's concerns. Marcus felt a twinge of pride at that, and pushed it down. 

"A musketball to the thigh, in the Spanish war. It shattered the bone, and then the ball was dug out by an inept surgeon."

Tomas came forward to refill the wine in Esca's cup. Esca thanked him, and Aquila's eyebrows rose nearly to his hair. It was all Marcus could do not to laugh at his expression. Tomas topped off Marcus' own cup. "Thank you, Tomas," Marcus murmured. 

"Sir," Tomas replied, with amusement in his voice. 

Esca looked Marcus again. "You were in the Army, then?"

"Yes." 

"I should like to hear about it sometime."

Marcus, who did not much care to discuss the battle, looked at Esca's querying face and answered, "Certainly. I would be glad to tell you."

Esca did not know that the answer was directed as much towards Aquila's disapproval as it was towards Esca himself. "Would we share a room here?" Esca asked, and before Marcus had a moment to puzzle out what that could mean, Aquila was shaking his head. 

"Of course not. This would be a business arrangement, and surely you would want it to be treated as such."

"Surely," Esca murmured. He continued to look skeptical. Marcus wondered what misfortune had befallen him in the past to make him look like that. Esca had the type of face that did not look well with that sort of expression; he would be more suited to a look of confidence, if not pride. 

Esca's gaze met his suddenly and Marcus realized he'd been staring. He inclined his head slightly towards Esca, then spooned some apples onto his plate and ate them in small bites. His hands did not shake. 

Esca did not linger after dinner, and promised to give Marcus his decision by week's end. "I should like to stay with the horses," he said, as Marcus walked him out to his mount, "if someone comes who would take both them and me."

"I am sorry my uncle will not," Marcus replied. "Although I daresay you addressed Tomas at dinner solely to see his reaction."

Esca chuckled, and then swung himself up onto the mousy-brown pony with an ease that made Marcus ache in jealousy. "Goodnight, Marcus."

"Goodnight."

Next morning, his leg was stiff and protesting the riding he'd done, and he grit his teeth in pain the entire way down the stairs to the day room, where Aquila sat at his desk with a stack of correspondence. 

"Now that, I was not expecting," Aquila said as Marcus limped in, the heavy thud of the cane giving away his approach. 

Confused, he asked, "You did not expect me to be out of bed?"

"I did not expect you to truly ask that servant to marry you."

"Well, I have." He felt cross with his uncle this morning, pain and hunger prodding at him from the inside, mixed with an anticipation he hadn't been expecting. 

"He looks a little feral, that one."

"Marcellus Claudius had nothing but kind words for him," Marcus snapped. "He said Esca was the only one who could handle Ruby Slippers at first."

"Like I said. A wild horse knows another."

Marcus decided that this conversation was not worth continuing. "He has not given me an answer yet. Now, I am going to see about breakfast."

He turned, and Aquila called after him, "He may very well kill you, Marcus."

"Then I shall die, and I would have deserved it," Marcus replied, and stalked down the hallway towards the kitchens as fast as his leg would carry him. He had no fear of death, not any more. Not after watching so many of his friends die on the battlefield. He'd thought his own life over when the musketball exploded into his thigh, and had awoken surprised to find himself still alive, and with no more fear of the end. 

Shortly before noon, Mrs. Stassticca called him to the kitchen door. Esca was there, on the same pony he'd ridden the day before. "Mr. Marcellus leaves for America sooner than expected, now in three weeks' time," he said to Marcus. "Therefore, I accept your offer."

"Very well." He let his tone show none of his internal relief. "I will have the solicitor draw up the papers; they should be ready well before Marcellus leaves. And tell him that I will buy Ruby Slippers, once the money is in my hands."

Esca seemed to brighten at this. He nodded. "When shall I... come to live with you?"

"I will call on you when the papers are ready. It will take some time before my own house is livable again, so we will have to stay here, perhaps a month or more. Is that alright?"

"Of course," he answered quickly, and Marcus figured he was not much used to having others ask his opinion. The pony took a few steps, as if she were bored, and Esca patted her neck, stroked gentle fingers over her ears. He flashed Marcus a tight, brief smile, and Marcus returned it. "I should be going."

The following Thursday, Marcus' solicitor arrived from London with a thick stack of carefully drawn papers: the marriage contract, the deed to Marcus' childhood home, and the investment statements detailing the amount of his inheritance. The weather was horribly damp and Marcus could hardly get around the house, much less onto a horse, so he had to send Tomas to fetch Esca. He left the solicitor in the parlor, then lingered in the kitchens until he could see Esca approach. 

Marcus went out a few yards to meet him, so that they might speak without Aquila or the solicitor overhearing. Esca dismounted, then handed the reigns of his pony to Tomas. Marcus waited until the groom was out of earshot, then asked, "Are you confident in this decision?"

Esca gave him a hard stare. "Yes," he said, after a long and still silence lingered between them for near a minute. "Are you?"

With honesty, Marcus replied, "You are the last option I have."

Esca looked at him a moment longer, then said, "That's fair." 

"The solicitor is inside. Shall we?"

Esca nodded. "I will need to return to Mr. Marcellus' afterward, to fetch my things."

"Should I accompany you?"

"If you so choose. I have told the other servants there I am coming to work for you and your uncle. They do not know of our arrangement. I feel it would make most of them uncomfortable."

Marcus could understand Esca's hesitance to share this turn of events with the other servants. "I have no quarrel if that's what you wish to tell people."

"I am not entirely sure what to tell people."

"Then perhaps for now we shall... not say anything at all," Marcus suggested.

Esca nodded, looking relieved. Then he asked, "Do you expect me to act as a wife?" and Marcus was caught off guard, and forced to ask what Esca meant. 

"The keeping of the house - dusting, straightening, darning your stockings." There was no small amount of contempt in his voice. 

Marcus struggled not to laugh. "No. We will have servants for those things. Do you honestly think me so rigid as to require you to take on the womanly tasks?"

"I do not know you very well at all."

"Anything you'd like to know, Esca, please ask. Truly, I do not wish us to be strangers."

Esca looked at him for a long while, with an expression that Marcus could not decipher, no matter how hard he tried. They went into the house, Esca pausing to scrub the mud quickly from his boots in the scullery. The solicitor looked disinterested as he pointed out where they should sign on the certificates, all formal-looking writing on unblemished parchment. Esca's signature was a long scribble, with the exception of a clear and defined 'E'. When everything was signed, they shook hands. 

The solicitor withdrew a fat envelope from the breast pocket of his coat and handed it to Marcus. "Here is the return on your investments over the last few months, as I assume you will need to arrange for the house to be restored," he said. "I have taken out several newspaper ads on your behalf, for a housekeeper and the like."

"Thank you," Marcus replied. 

Aquila cleared his throat. "Esca, a word in private, if I may?"

"Of course, sir." He shot Marcus a confused look, but followed Aquila from the room. 

"I must say this arrangement is not one that most men choose," the solicitor said to Marcus as he gathered the now-dry papers and placed them carefully in his leather case. "But there was no way to know that your father would die while you were gone, or that such an injury would befall you."

Marcus felt cold, hating the look of pity on the solicitor's pale and whiskered face. He clutched hard at the envelope of money. "Indeed, one could not have forseen."

"I shall place the papers in your vault. Good luck, and good day, Sir."

Marcus waved him away, struggling against his temper, just as Esca and Aquila returned. He looked first at Esca but could find no discernible emotion on his face. "All finished, Marcus?" Aquila asked, as placid as ever. 

"Yes. Esca and I will be going to Marcellus' to gather his belongings now; we should return well before supper."

"You're riding out? But earlier you could not -"

"I can mount my damn horse," Marcus snapped, cutting off his uncle mid-sentence. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the house, nevermind the weather. "Thank you."

His cane sank into the mud as they walked out to the stables, and Marcus was forced to bang it several times against the wall to knock off the muck. "I hate this bloody thing," he muttered. Esca did not answer, simply brought Smoke from her stall before fetching his own mount. Marcus kicked down the rough step-stool he had to use on occasion, and with the extra height, managed to swing himself up - bad leg first - onto his horse. 

Again with no comment, Esca took up the step-stool and held it in front of him on his pony. 

"I am not asking you to be my servant," Marcus said to him, feeling his anger slip away, only to be replaced by an ugly and unwanted feeling of helplessness. 

"I know," Esca replied, and steered the pony towards Marcellus' without giving Marcus another glance. 

Marcus went to find Marcellus first, and pay him for Ruby Slippers. Then he found Esca in the small room he had occupied with another groomsman in the stables. "What might I buy for you?" he asked, looking at Esca's meager belongings as they were bundled up into a worn and patched canvas bag. 

"Nothing."

Marcus could hardly believe that. "Surely there are things you need. You truly have no requests?"

Esca rose from his crouch; his expression went carefully blank, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment before coming to some sort of decision, and looking Marcus straight in the eye as though he had decided to tell the truth. "Your uncle said I was to make no requests."

Inwardly, Marcus groaned. Uncle Aquila was at times a meddling old fool, and this was indeed one of those times. "You may ask for things, Esca; do not be hesitant." 

"You have already agreed to provide me with more than I thought I should see in my lifetime," Esca replied. "And for that, I thank you."

"You have no reason to thank me. I should never have claimed my inheritance if you hadn't agreed to the marriage."

Esca looked at him. After a long silence, he said, "It seems we're at a draw, then."

"Another item on our list of things to avoid discussing."

The corner of Esca's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

It was late November before Lucius wrote to say that Marcus' father's house was ready, and Marcus and Esca said their goodbyes to Uncle Aquila and took a brand-new carriage across the countryside towards the estate on the Eastern coast, near Aberaeron. It was two days' travel, and they would spend the night at an inn along the route, but would not reach that relative comfort until late. 

The jostling of the carriage caused Marcus much pain, and he closed his eyes and tried to swallow it down. It was warm enough while the sun was up, but the carriage grew colder as night approached, and Marcus drew the carpets as close as he dared. But Esca still noticed, and asked, "Shall I sit closer? For warmth."

Marcus considered refusing, as Esca still held himself stiffly and never got too close. Marcus did not wish to make him uncomfortable. But if allowed, the cold would sink all too quickly into his joints, and it would be days before they loosened up again. "I would be most... I would be appreciative, if you do not mind."

"I do not." He slid moved underneath the traveling carpets, aligning the side of his body with Marcus'. 

The silence lingered until Marcus could bear it no more, and let one of his many unasked questions for Esca burst forth. "What would you do, if you could do anything?"

"You mean, if I had the wealth and status to do as I pleased?"

"Yes."

Esca was quiet so long that Marcus began to think he wouldn't answer. "Horses," he answered finally, his voice quiet and sounding sort of far-away. "I should love to breed horses." 

_A wild horse knows another_ , Marcus remembered his uncle saying. He pitched his voice to match Esca's and asked, "What sort?"

"Arabians. And Andalusians, if I could find a way to bring a few over from Spain. Have you ever seen Andalusian horses?"

"Yes, in the war." 

Esca's eyes were wide. "Really?"

"When Napoleon invaded Spain, his army stole many Spanish horses. The cavalry rode them into battle." Marcus knew he could still picture it, if only he closed his eyes. So he kept them open, looking sideways at Esca. 

"I have only seen a painting or two," Esca confessed. 

"I only saw them from far away." _Or dead,_ he thought, and then pushed the memory away. 

"We had many horses, before my father died," Esca said, after another long silence. Marcus lifted a brow, hoping he would continue. Esca had said no more than a half-dozen words about his family since he'd first told Marcus they had all passed on. He looked half-lost in remembrance, his expression sad. "Many horses, and no groom. It was how I came to understand them so well."

"So your family was not... in service."

"No." Esca shook his head and it seemed that was all he wanted to say on the matter. He stayed close to Marcus, though, a warm press all along Marcus' side, keeping his leg from getting too cold. 

Some time later, the carriage slowed and came to a stop. The hired driver knocked on the door, then opened it. "We have arrived at the inn, sirs," he said. "I shall bring your cases, then see to the horses."

"No, I can carry them," Esca replied, and climbed out of the carriage. Then he extended a hand back through the door-opening to assist Marcus, who gave murmured thanks. 

The driver gave them a puzzled glance, perhaps thinking Esca to be his valet. Marcus ignored it, yanking his cane from where he'd tucked it into the corner of the carriage. Esca kept a tight grip on his elbow until he had both feet - and cane - firmly on the ground. Then Esca picked up both their cases, and let Marcus precede him into the small, warmly-lit inn. 

"Are you pretending to be my valet?" Marcus hissed at him as they crossed the threshold, and was ignored. "Esca!"

They were shown to a single room with a single bed. It was more than large enough for the both of them; Marcus had slept three to a smaller frame while billeting. Marcus glanced at Esca, having no idea what his reaction might be, but Esca's face was impassive, his jaw set like stone. He put down their cases, then went into the small attached wash room. 

Marcus sat down in the bed and began to draw off his boots. His leg had stiffened up to the point where it seemed to take forever just to bend, and he had only gotten the laces undone when Esca reappeared. "Why didn't you ask for help, Marcus?" he asked, and knelt on the wooden floor. 

"I could have done it," Marcus replied, as Esca pulled the boots from his feet. "You're not my servant, despite what you seemed to pretend downstairs, you don't have to -"

"You may ask me for help," Esca interrupted.

Marcus frowned at him. That wasn't the point.

Esca unlaced his own boots. "There's no shame in asking," he said quietly.

Marcus felt compelled to point out that if help was all he'd needed, he would have hired Esca, not married him. Esca merely shrugged at this.

"You do not use me as a wife, so you might as well use me as a servant." He unbuttoned his close-fitting coat and tugged it off. He looked at Marcus and made a querying face. "Are you sleeping or not?"

Marcus was still stuck on _use me as a wife_. Surely Esca could not mean that in - no, certainly not. "Yes, I am sleeping," he answered finally, and removed his own coat and cravat. "Was there fresh water? I should wash some of this travel from my face."

Esca nodded, distracted by the multitude of buttons fastening his new trousers. They had been made only the week before by a tailor and several assistants who'd stayed at the house for several days to fit and sew, all while Esca had directed long-suffering looks at Marcus. 

Marcus could not help himself, and asked jokingly, "Perhaps _you_ are in need of assistance, this time?"

Esca started to laugh, his stoic expression melting into mirth, and his eyes were bright as he looked up at Marcus and shook his head. "I am not used to such fashions," he said, laughter still punctuating his words. "Although I admire your endeavor to... make me a gentleman, hiring the tailor and all."

Marcus smiled back at him, because he couldn't not. Esca continued to watch him. It seemed almost like he was waiting for what Marcus might say next. "It's hardly been a trying experience," he managed after a moment. "You shall take to it quicker than you know."

In the lavatory, he attended to his bodily needs, then washed his hands and face. More dust than he had expected rinsed from his skin, but then he reasoned they'd been driving on a packed-earth road, and the carriage was likely not sealed well. He'd spent seasons dirtier besides. 

Esca had exchanged his clothes for a nightshirt, and Marcus did the same, trying not to shiver in the chill air before he could get beneath the blankets. The bed was warm at least, thanks to a hot brick that had been placed at the foot of it when the proprietor had led them up. For that he was grateful. He felt the mattress dip and shift as Esca turned onto his side, facing away from him. 

Marcus feared the worst and said, "I should have thought to reserve another room; I apologise."

"Don't be troubled. I'm fine," Esca muttered. "Only tired."

After a few minutes, Marcus heard Esca's breathing even out as he fell asleep. There was a wide enough space between them that the blankets sagged in the valley. Scant moonlight trickled through the window, only enough that Marcus could make out the outline of Esca. Bony shoulder and hip, the softer lines of his arm and thigh. 

Then Marcus shook himself from that contemplation and turned away.

The next morning the room was cold. Esca was up before him, buttoning his coat when Marcus opened his eyes. "Have I overslept?" he asked, voice rough from sleep. 

"No. I could lay there no longer."

Marcus sat up, rubbing his arms and legs briskly to warm them before he attempted to stand. He was still not used to the ways his injury was responding to the change in seasons. So far, he had mostly cursed his own body as the stiffness increased with every drop in temperature. Esca watched with sharp eyes, but did not offer assistance. 

Marcus figured he would likely not offer any longer, but wait for Marcus to ask.

As they drew closer to Iolair, Marcus realized that he recognized much of the landscape still, even after the many years he had spent away. He knocked on the thin wood of the carriage and called to the driver, "We are close! Slow down!"

The horses slowed to a walk and Marcus was able to direct the coachman to the gravel road leading to the front of the house. Lucius must have been watching, for he opened the door and came down the steps as the carriage halted. "Sir Marcus! You have arrived earlier than expected. A pleasant journey, I hope?"

"As pleasant as could be wished," Marcus replied. He gripped Lucius's hand tightly. "Good to see you. It has been too long. Has everything gone smoothly?"

Lucius had been his father's valet, a constant figure in Marcus' childhood. Marcus knew that he had likely only a few more years' work in him, but having him back at Iolair meant a great deal to Marcus, and he was sure Lucius knew it. 

"Indeed, Sir, with the exception of the mice. But the barn cat's had a litter a week past, so two or three of the kittens should set upon the vermin soon enough."

"Excellent." 

He stepped back to look up at the house, which seemed much the same, registering Esca near his elbow. "I have missed this place," Marcus said quietly to him.

"How long has it been since you were here last?"

"Since I was sixteen. Shall we have a look around?"

"Yes, let's."

He left Lucius to settle with the hired carriage and took Esca on a tour of the sprawling house. Random memories came to him as he pointed out each room, and he shared these with Esca as well, talking until his voice grew scratchy and his mouth was dry. They ended in the kitchens, where the new housekeeper pressed upon them both cups of strong tea with milk and sugar, insisting that they must be famished after the journey and that a meal would be ready soon.

"Please, there is no need to rush," Marcus told her. "I know we arrived earlier than the household anticipated today; the time I estimated was because I was sure I'd be lost in the country, and not know where to turn."

"Marcus, let the woman do her work," Esca whispered in his ear. "Show me the stables?"

When they were outside, Marcus confessed, "I am not used to being the one to deal with the servants."

"That much is obvious." Esca was smiling. "But Mrs. Valens could hardly see to the meal if you continued to apologise for being early."

Then, without allowing Marcus time to speak, Esca asked, "You are all right to walk to the stables?"

Marcus took a moment to pay attention to his leg, then said, "It's not so bad once I am moving, and keep moving. The muscles stay warm. It's the sitting for hours that truly does me in, to be honest with you."

"Well, if that's the case, I shall not let you have a moment's rest."

Marcus laughed. "The doctor might argue with you on that, but I will not. At least for now. Once it gets colder - I do not know what to expect."

Had it really only been four months since the battle? It felt like so much longer. He still had not told Esca the details, and Esca had not pressed. He'd spent so much time out with the horses while at Aquila's that Marcus had figured Esca was trying to avoid both Marcus and his uncle. And Marcus had not minded very much. But here they were the only ones, and Marcus had to admit he felt the sharp prick of loneliness more often than not. 

They passed the remainder of the daylight hours in wandering slowly through the house, with Marcus keeping a list of things that still needed doing. "How much of it do you intend to keep closed-up?" Esca asked, as Marcus pulled shut the door to a particularly drafty room that would never keep warm, no matter how long a fire burned. 

"With just the two of us and the servants, I don't see how we need to use a large portion of these rooms. And their quarters are behind the kitchens on the main floor, so they'll stay warmer than ours will."

Esca looked down the long hallway, now bathed in shadows as the pale sunlight disappeared. "There is so much space."

"It feels so strange to me, being here again," Marcus said softly. A sudden yawn overtook him, and he tried to stifle it with his hand. "My apologies. I find I am worn out."

He remembered his old room, but it was not made up, and cold besides. He found the master bedroom refreshed, and a smaller room beside it, presumably for Esca. Heavy velvet curtains covered the windows to blunt out cold air that seeped in through the joints. Both rooms had a dusky glow due to the fat candles that burned on the side tables. 

Esca followed Marcus into the master bedroom, his gaze lingering on everything, including Marcus. "You seem unwell," he said, after a silence had stretched between them for some time. 

"Only tired." Then Marcus steeled himself, and said, "As it is quite cold, I would be much obliged if you would share the bed with me, for warmth." 

When Esca did not answer, he added hurriedly, "But I would understand if you said no. Your bedroom has been prepared, after all, and there is fresh ticking and clean sheets -"

"Stop talking," Esca interrupted, and then proceeded to stare at him so long that Marcus grew anxious, about to prompt him, and then he said, "There was once a time that a man came after me, trying to - lay his hands on me. In a way that I didn't want. And since then, I have disliked being in close quarters with others."

A wave of red anger struck Marcus full in the chest and he growled, "Tell me who, so that I might hurt them for you."

Esca shook his head swiftly. "No, Marcus. I had my revenge. It is in the past. But I cannot help but flinch sometimes, and you should know why. Last night I was too tired to care very much. And I know you won't - try such a thing." 

Marcus remembered how Esca had immediately distanced himself the night before. Legally speaking, he held the upper hand in this relationship, but he was a gentleman, and it wouldn't be right to force Esca into anything, anything at all. And with his leg the way it was, he was sure that Esca could quickly rebuff any physical advances. Marcus hadn't yet decided if he even wanted to make them. The force of his anger towards whoever it was that had tried to hurt Esca had been surprising, and now it coiled in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to ease it. This bed was even larger than the one at the inn, and they could both sleep comfortably without encroaching on each other's space. "I would never, Esca."

"I felt you should know. But I will share the bed."

"You're certain?"

Esca looked up at him, a smile pulling at his mouth. "You regret your suggestion?"

"No," Marcus told him. "I do not."

"You're not the only one who gets cold in the middle of the night," Esca added, and Marcus remembered the room in Marcellus' stables. 

"You don't want a robe?" he asked, when Esca made to slide between the sheets wearing only a nightshirt. 

Esca raised a brow, and replied in the same tone, "Is your bedding so much finer that I am required?" 

"Of course not. I only worry that you might freeze."

"I will be fine. There will be enough warmth, between the two of us and this mountain of blankets."

Marcus forewent his own sleeping robe and blew out the candles, then climbed carefully into the bed, cursing under his breath at the twinge in his thigh. "All right?" Esca asked, as Marcus settled the blankets around himself.

"Yes; it's only the usual."

"Will it ever be - as it was before?"

Marcus looked over at him in the dark. He could barely make out Esca's profile, though it was no more than two hands away. "No. The doctor tells me this is as strong as it will ever be again, and that I should be content. And I am glad that it's not worse, and grateful I did not lose the leg, or anything else."

"Do you still feel desire?"

The question was startling. Marcus' first instinct was to recoil, and say that such things are private matters, but if there was anyone who had the right to ask, it was Esca. A man should be able to discuss private things such as this with his spouse, even if the spouse was in convenience only. 

He groped for the words to best describe it and tried not to sound too strangled, even though he knew his face was flushed. "Rarely am I able to feel that pleasure."

"I am sorry."

Marcus shrugged. "It cannot -"

"- be helped, I know, you've said it a thousand times."

"It does make me feel somewhat less of a man, I must confess." 

Esca made a sound that sounded to Marcus like a snort of disbelief. "A hard cock does not a man make," he said, laughing. "I have known terrible men who wanked every day, and you are a better man than all of them put together and multiplied ten-fold."

"I - thank you." He was not sure what else could be said to that. Then he laughed as well, because he could still feel Esca's shoulder shaking although he must have been muffling the sound. 

"I will share your bed from now on," Esca said in a firm tone, once his laughter had tapered off. "There's no need to keep another room prepared for me, it is a waste. Didn't it pain you at night while at your uncle's?"

"Some nights more than others. I admit, I did not anticipate the change in the weather would cause it to seize up so." He felt Esca's arm brush along his, then Esca's hand settled gently on Marcus' thigh. He jolted. "You need not -"

"Your muscles have cramped, let me work out the knot."

"I'm quite all right -"

"Marcus," Esca said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "I want to go riding tomorrow, and how could you accompany me if you can't even mount your horse?"

Marcus sighed and relented, closing his eyes. Esca's hand was warm and his fingers strong, and he kept to the space between Marcus' knee and the jut of his hipbone, working his way first up, and then back down, pressing circles into the scar tissue with his thumb. Marcus turned his face into the pillow and let his eyes water. It hurt, and it did not hurt, and the day had been long. 

He woke later, with a start in the dead of night. The room was silent and black. He could make out nothing in the darkness and knew that Esca must have gotten up to draw the curtains tighter at some point. _Was I sleeping that soundly?_ he asked himself. 

Esca was close; Marcus could feel the heat of him. Something he couldn't identify throbbed in his chest, so painfully that for a terrifying half-awake second he thought Death had come for him. Then it was gone just as fast.

It was several mornings later when Marcus awoke to find Esca gone from the bed. He was nowhere in the house, nor on the grounds closest to the house. Marcus spent the better part of an hour looking for him before retreating to the fire-lit warmth of the drawing room with his Thucydides. He did not think Esca had _left_ left; his belongings were all still in the house, and he would be forfeiting the marriage money to leave before their agreed-upon date. Still, it unsettled Marcus to not know his general whereabouts. 

He did his best to ignore the feeling and had made it a quarter of the way through his book, as well as breakfasted on stewed fruit and the previous night's dinner bread, when he heard a commotion in the house. 

Esca was in the kitchens, holding a sleek-looking black puppy and laughing as it tried to escape by climbing up and over his shoulder. "What's this now?" Marcus asked.

"I brought you a gift." Esca grasped the pup by the scruff of its neck and held it out towards Marcus.

The puppy - a boy, that was clear - tried to lick Marcus' face as he took the animal from Esca. Marcus laughed and craned his neck to get his nose away from the wet tongue. "Where did you get him?"

"His mother roams the grounds the next house over - I happened to come upon the Master riding yesterday, and he asked if you'd take one of the pups."

Marcus had yet to meet any of their neighbors. "Well, I won't turn you away," he said to the puppy, as it nosed at his cheek. To Esca he said, "What shall we call him?"

"He is for you. You should decide."

"I am open to suggestions," Marcus replied with a smile, and Esca smiled back. The same frightening, unknown feeling bloomed in Marcus' chest again, and he felt warm in a way that wasn't just from the ovens. He thought: _It is Esca who makes this odd spark in my chest._

"Marcus?" Esca was looking at him strangely. "Surely a name is not that hard?"

"I -" He took a breath. "What do you think of Cleon? He was an Athenian general. I have just been reading about him."

"Cleon," Esca said to the puppy, scratching under its chin as Marcus held it, Esca standing so close Marcus could feel the chill still lingering in his coats. He must have been outside for quite a while. 

The puppy wriggled and licked Esca's fingers. "I guess he likes it," Esca said, meeting Marcus' gaze.

"Cleon it is, then."

He set the puppy down, and they watched as he ran back and forth across the broad kitchens several times before flopping with a sigh beneath the workbench, eyes moving back and forth between Marcus and Esca. 

"I doubt Mrs. Valens would like him in here," Esca said with a chuckle.

"He will follow us if we leave, I have no doubt."

Cleon did just that, running at their heels as they walked to the drawing room, knocking into them in his still-uncoordinated gait. "He is still so very small," Marcus observed, settling back on the sofa with his book. 

Esca had dropped to the rug and was letting Cleon climb all over him. "He was the runt of the litter. The larger puppies were beginning to bully him."

"It's good you found him, then," Marcus said, knowing his tone was fond. He dangled his arm off the edge of the sofa. The puppy came and nipped at his fingers before returning to Esca, clearly already his favorite plaything.

Marcus had read another several pages when Esca said wistfully, "We had a dog when I was young - a great, grizzled mutt. He was so large that my younger brother could ride him as if a pony." He paused. "But he was old even when I was a child, and one day my father took him out into the fields, and he did not return."

Marcus did not know what to say to that, and perhaps there was nothing that could be said. After a long silence, he ventured, "It is better an animal not suffer, especially one so loved."

"Sometimes I think I miss old Venutius more than I miss my kin," Esca murmured. He looked up at Marcus with his head tilted back on the rug. "Is that strange?"

Marcus reflected briefly on the fact that he often missed Copely and Mowett, his battle-killed lieutenants, more than he missed his own father and long-gone mother. "No, Esca," he said finally. "I don't think it's all that strange, really."

"Do you think _me_ strange?"

"Most of the time." It was said with a smile. 

Esca held Cleon up above him in the air, and Cleon barked at him. 

Suddenly, Marcus asked, "Do you like it here?"

"I like it well enough."

"I am glad of it." And he was. As odd as their relationship felt most of the time, Marcus knew Esca was the only thing standing between him and a bitter loneliness. 

They fell quiet again for a while, except for the exuberant noises of the tiny Cleon, and spent most of mid-day in the companionable silence. Eventually, though, Marcus could sit still no longer. He set his book aside and rubbed his thigh for a few moments.

"All right?" Esca asked, his gaze sharp as always when Marcus seemed in pain.

He admitted he should move around some, and Esca nodded. "Cleon should probably go outdoors for a while." Here he wrinkled his nose. "I do not wish to have him piss on me."

Marcus grinned. "Outside, then. Let me fetch my coat."

They walked the grounds for more than an hour, the puppy running in circles around them but never straying too far. The air was chill, but not yet the biting cold of winter. Marcus could remember the winters of his youth here, the lawns blanketed in snow. When Cleon came shivering and stayed close to their feet, Marcus picked him up and tucked him inside his coat, and the puppy soon fell asleep. 

He could feel Esca watching him. "What is it?"

Esca looked strangled, and did not speak. Marcus gazed heavenward for a second, then said, "Out with it, Esca, come on! Have we not grown to be friends after a fashion?"

"Am I still to share your bed?" His gaze flickered to Cleon. 

"Yes," Marcus replied without hesitation, for he could no longer imagine sleeping alone. He rubbed Cleon's soft head. "Besides, this one is much too small to warm the sheets."

Esca leaned close, bumping his arm gently against Marcus'. "For now." 

"Mrs. Valens would have my skin if I allowed a full-grown animal between her painstakingly washed linens." While it was not entirely what Marcus would have liked to say, it was true. 

"Yet you don't consider me a full-grown animal?" Esca asked, laughter in his voice, still so close that Marcus could feel the warmth of his breath. 

"Oh, Esca. Were my hands not both occupied, I would hold yours," Marcus confessed, and then was surprised when Esca did not look at all startled by this. 

"Here, then. Let me -" Esca took the cane from Marcus' hand and held it underneath his opposite arm, then tucked Marcus' arm through his own. Then, ever careful to back up his actions with explanations, he said, "I think that cane might do you more harm than good. I see you hunch slightly to use it - it is too short, Marcus. I will make you a new one."

"I could make my own," Marcus protested. "It would keep my hands occupied."

"And leave me shiftless?" 

Marcus stopped walking, holding them in place. "You are neither lazy nor an animal, despite the humour you seem to find in suggesting such. And you have been a better companion than I ever could have asked for. I would be terribly alone here, without you."

It was more honest than he was given to being, at least out loud. Esca said nothing but tightened his grip on Marcus. 

The quiet continued to stretch until Marcus felt he _had_ to break it and said, "It is why I keep asking if you are comfortable here."

"Marcus. These last few weeks have been the quietest my life has ever known. I am not responsible for anything, and I hardly know what to do with myself. And you ask so little of me - to be honest, I worry I shall go soft these two years."

Marcus was glad he wasn't the only one who wondered what they were to _do_ out here. "How would you feel about raising horses? It would be frowned upon, for a man of my title to take up farming, although there is so much land I feel like I should make use of it, but more horses - we could do that."

"I would like that very much," Esca said firmly.

They spent the next few weeks searching out a stallion worthy of Ruby Slippers, as well as another two mares to join the stable. Esca made several trips to Hereford, a day's journey away each time. Marcus went once, but a cold snap kept him housebound the next two trips, his leg so bad he could barely walk at all, and slept on the sofa in the drawing room to avoid the stairs. 

Esca returned with a haughty-looking Arabian, four years old and fifteen hands. As soon as Marcus laid eyes on the stallion, he knew Esca had chosen the best possible mate for Ruby Slippers. 

"That's hoping they will take to one another," Esca said with a laugh. "That, you can never be quite sure of."

But Gilded Laurel and Ruby Slippers took to each other quite well the next time she was in heat. Esca was flush with excitement when he burst into the bedroom to tell Marcus. "God willing, there will be a foal next October."

Marcus looked up, taking in Esca's bright gaze, the smile on his face. "That is great news."

"What are you standing there staring at?"

"My old uniform." It had not been all that long, but the fabric had faded as if years had passed. "I felt I had to keep it, but I'm not certain why."

"You don't speak much of your time in the Army, but it's clear to me that it was important to you." Esca stepped closer. "May I?"

Marcus nodded. He moved aside so that Esca could look.

"You have a great many medals," Esca observed quietly. He did not touch. 

"Most delivered to me on my sickbed."

"You still earned them."

Marcus stared down at the ribbons and bars, not actually seeing them. "It was a great fight with my father to allow me to join the Army. He was a Navy man, and would have preferred I be the same. But I never cared much for sailing, and had no desire to live like that - the crew all in that one space, with the endless ocean surrounding us."

Carefully, he replaced the lid of the box, then put it back into the chiffonier. 

"So that is what you'd kept in there," Esca said thoughtfully.

"You never looked?"

"No, why should I?"

Marcus bit back a smile and shook his head. "So, the horses?"

"All quite well today. I rode Rose while the stallion and Ruby attended to their coupling, and she handled brilliantly. If you are in the riding mood, perhaps we could go out after tea? The chill is not so bad."

Marcus nodded. "I shall be glad to get out of the house. I am not looking forward to January, for certain."

Esca looked contemplative for a moment. "I would try something tonight - with your permission, of course."

Marcus gestured for him to continue.

"The stable I worked at before Marcellus had several scarred horses. There was an oil rub we would use for them, and their stiffness was eased for several days at a time." He raised a brow. "I am not comparing you to a horse, of course."

"Of course," Marcus laughed. "Yes, let's try. Anything you think might help, Esca. I am always most appreciative."

Mrs. Valens had made currant scones for tea, and there was fresh butter. Marcus watched as Esca slathered his scone with the pale butter and took a large bite. Then he saw Marcus watching him and flushed. He said, "Being outside this time of year always makes me so hungry. And we did not normally get butter at Marcellus' - day old scones, yes, but dry."

"Have all you want. Better to eat it than have some left to spoil."

That night, Esca disappeared into one of the unused bedrooms that they were using for storage, and after several minutes returned to their bedroom with an armful of worn sheets that had been waiting to be torn into rags. "I'm glad Mrs. Valens hadn't ripped these yet - they will prevent the oils from staining your good sheets."

He spread them in several layers over the bed, then looked at Marcus. "I will see to the oils while you undress," he said pointedly, and turned on his heel.

Marcus removed his clothes down to his drawers, the feeling in his chest like waiting for the enemy to charge. He laid face-down on the bed, folding his arms underneath his forehead.

He heard Esca come back, heard several things being set on the washstand, smelled something sharp and almost medicinal. The bed dipped as Esca sat down on it. "All right?" he asked quietly. 

"Yes." It was muffled into the sheets. 

Teasingly, Esca warned, "Don't jump," and then his hands settled on the back of Marcus' knee.

Marcus shivered, ticklish although Esca made no move to torment him in that way. Esca made no move at all, for what felt to Marcus like the longest time. Then he pushed all his fingertips down and up the back of Marcus' thigh, the slick oil making his hands slide even as he pressed on a knot of tension Marcus hadn't even known was there. 

He groaned and shuddered. and then the shakes came upon him for nearly a minute while he felt helpless. Esca said nothing. He waited until Marcus had stopped shaking before starting again, thumbs coaxing the tight muscle into relaxation. His hands left and came back several times, bringing more of the warmed oil. 

Marcus pressed his face into the bed and concentrated on his breath in and out, concentrated on keeping his hands open and flat to the rough feel of the sheets under his palms. He knew that some pain now meant it would feel better tomorrow, no matter how much he wanted to flinch away now. 

Esca's fingers were gentle on the scar tissue and careful at the spots that were prone to sharp bursts of pain. "Sometimes I worry there is still metal inside," Marcus murmured, turning his head so he could speak clearly. "I know I would have been sick by now if there were, but still, I worry."

"I am no doctor. I could not judge that, and by touch alone." Esca pressed his knuckles to the top of Marcus' thigh and pressed down, rocking his fist back and forth. "But if you do worry, a doctor could be hired."

Marcus sighed. "I'm sure I've had enough of doctors." 

Esca nudged his hip. "You can turn over."

He did so, and Esca's hands resumed, starting at his knee again. Almost conversationally, Esca said, "It is a wonder you survived, Marcus. I can see all the places where parts of you were torn away, and where the skin grew over those places again."

Marcus covered his eyes with his forearm. "It's a damned ugly mess."

Fingertips traced the maze of scars. "Better this than dead."

"I should have died."

"What?"

Marcus removed his arm and looked at Esca. "I should have died, Esca. I should have died in their places."

Esca looked back at him with a solemn expression. "Were you meant to die in that battle, you would have," he said. "Life and the living of it are in your own hands, but death is in the hands of God."

Esca continued to look straight at him, as if he were willing Marcus to believe what he was saying. His gray eyes were steely, unflinching. His hands were still on Marcus' thigh, but only resting there. 

"I feel guilty," Marcus confessed finally, when he could bear Esca's gaze no longer. 

"Marcus, I have no doubt that if it had been you who had died, your men would find themselves in this exact place, and feel as you do now."

Marcus knew, at least in his head, that Esca was right. He whispered, "Where did you learn these things?"

"Life," Esca murmured, and took up his ministrations once more. Marcus closed his eyes again, telling himself that it was safe to drift into relaxation, that it was all right for Esca to touch him as long as Esca had no objection to doing so.

It was a few minutes before he realized Esca was humming, a soft and low noise. It seemed a mournful tune to Marcus, who was only used to military marches, and he asked, "What's that you're humming?"

"A song my mother taught me, many years ago. Shall I stop?"

"No, go on," and so Esca continued. The song was gentle even as his thumbs pressed into a particularly stubborn cramp in the middle part of Marcus' thigh, the same contraction that usually left him feeling like it would be impossible to straighten his leg the whole way.

As if he'd read Marcus' mind, Esca moved to the foot of the bed and grasped Marcus' heel in his hand, and pulled. Marcus groaned, but his leg straightened entirely. 

"There," Esca said, pleasure evident in his voice. "You are not as crippled as your body has tricked you into believing."

Marcus twitched his leg experimentally. It did feel much better. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking first at his scars and then at Esca. "Thank you."

Esca shrugged. "I'll be happy not to see you wince tomorrow on your horse," he said after a space. He slid off the bed. "There were scones left, do you want one?"

"No, but I think I'll still read for a while before trying to sleep."

Esca nodded and left for the kitchens. Marcus sat up the rest of the way, running a hand over his thigh, feeling the slip of the oil. He realized that he was letting Esca touch him in ways no other person had ever touched, except maybe his child nurse, and the doctors who had tended his wounds. And Esca seemed to think nothing of it. 

A slight sadness washed over Marcus, like a clustering of pinpricks to his heart. Esca was likely just doing what he thought was expected of him, and Marcus - Marcus was finding he actually _cared_ for Esca. Wanted to do things that pleased him, wanted him around more often than he wanted to be alone, wanted all the things that Esca would offer. 

Marcus had never been in love, but he was certain that it didn't feel like this. He felt towards Esca much how he'd felt towards Mowett and Copely, and that could not have been love, only comradeship, only that bond caused by needing other people when you were followed by Death.

He was not followed by Death here. Only loneliness, and Esca was helping to keep that wolf from the door. 

He bent his leg experimentally, then stretched it back out. It felt good, and he could extend it out the whole way again. Even stretch further, point his toes down to the end of the bed, remind his body that the time would come again when he would not fear falling due to sudden weakness. Now if only he could get past that _other_ , more secret weakness that he had confessed to Esca in embarrassment their first night in the house. . 

He rubbed a hand over his stomach, then slid it into his shorts, stroking his soft cock, hoping for _something_. He hadn't touched himself in weeks, and the last time, his body had refused to respond, and he'd ended up angry and disgusted with himself. 

He kept his touches light and it felt good, even if blood wasn't rushing to stiffen his sex. Marcus tried to stay patient. He kept his movements unhurried, closing his eyes, knowing it was best not to hope for too much. 

Then the door creaked, and Marcus saw Esca there. 

"Forgive me, I should have shut -" Marcus started, at the same time Esca said, "I'm so sorry, I should have announced -"

In the Army, it hadn't been uncommon for soldiers to catch sight of one another like this, or hear the unmistakable sound from the next rack over. But no other soldier had ever looked at him the way Esca was looking at him. Marcus felt his cock begin to swell, and his face flamed. 

"Oh, God, Marcus," he heard Esca murmur, and the tone of his voice sent such a crest of arousal through Marcus that he couldn't help but grip his length and stroke. He thought: _Esca will leave._

But Esca made a strangled sort of noise. He did not move from the doorway. In a low and hoarse voice he said, "Marcus, let me watch."

It was a command, and even as Marcus' higher brain protested against it, the rest of him had been trained to obey. He freed his cock with a groan as cooler air touched his fevered skin. "I haven't wanted to do this in months," he gasped, slicking his hands further with the oil left on his thigh.

"All the more reason to do it now."

Marcus closed his eyes again and gave himself over to the sharp-edged pleasure, the slight shameful feeling that accompanied Esca watching outweighed by the arousal Marcus now understood his presence brought. Somehow, he wanted to show Esca everything.

It had been long enough that he knew he would not last, yet he felt like the bliss built for hours. It was only when Esca put one knee on the bed and leaned over him that Marcus cried out, and the wetness streaked both his hand and Esca's. 

Marcus surfaced - groggy, like the ends of all his nerves had been blunted as well as blurred - to see Esca still leaning over him, palming himself through his trousers. 

"I'm a mess," Marcus murmured, giving no thought to the words as he said them.

"No, you're rapturous," Esca said, as Marcus flushed again and wanted to squirm. But he also did not want to make Esca move, and so kept still. 

"Are you..." He glanced to where Esca touched himself. 

"Considering it." Esca grinned as he unbuttoned his trousers. He was so near that Marcus could feel the warmth of his body. He drew out his cock, and all Marcus could think was that it matched the rest of him perfectly. He watched, unable to hide his fascination and no longer caring to, as Esca worked himself with his fist, so close that sometimes his knuckles would brush Marcus' stomach.

Marcus asked, "You mean to - on me."

Esca gave him a slow smile that caused that same scary, anticipatory feeling in Marcus' chest yet again. "I do."

Marcus found he had no objection to being marked by Esca in such a way, and put his hand on Esca's hip and squeezed it there until Esca shuddered and spread his seed all over Marcus' sticky belly.

Marcus dragged his fingers through the mess, sleepy and spent, as Esca rolled to one side. 

The silence turned and stretched, but was not uncomfortable, and presently Esca lifted himself up on one elbow and gazed at the wreck Marcus now was. 

"I have never wanted to do that to anyone before now," he said in wonder.

"And I have never wanted it done to me before now."

"You can do it to me, some time. If you like."

Marcus figured he would like that, if his body would cooperate. 

Esca got up to open the door for Cleon, although the puppy usually slept in the kitchens. Then he went to the wash-stand and dampened a cloth to clean themselves up with. When they were both relatively washed, he left the rag in the basin but made no move towards nightclothes. "You could read still, if you wanted to," he said to Marcus, "but we should take these rag sheets off of here, and get under the blankets."

Marcus stood up carefully, so relaxed he didn't trust himself not to sway, and helped Esca strip off the oil-spotted old sheets. "I'd surely fall asleep only a page or two in, so there will be no more reading for me tonight," he said once the blankets had been turned down. "I'll blow out the candles now."

Esca nodded and slid his body under the covers. Marcus cupped his hand behind each yellow flame and blew them out, one at a time until the room was dark.

The next day, Marcus expected things to be different somehow, as though during the night Esca would begin to regret what they'd done, and be sullen and standoffish. Instead, Esca behaved as he'd been for the last several weeks, and prodded Marcus out into the cold for a jaunt on the horses just as he'd said he would. 

Marcus found he was able to swing himself up onto the bay mare Lavender with much more ease than normal, and told Esca as much. "I even feel like I can grip with my knees as I used to."

"That's excellent," Esca replied, smiling as he wheeled Gilded Laurel around. Marcus felt a pang of regret that as well as he might feel right now, he would never again have the strength to ride the tall stallion. Gilded Laurel nudged at Lavender, who danced backwards a few steps. 

Esca laughed as his horse tossed his head, as if offended. "They're a funny sort," he said to Marcus. "Ruby will stay for hours in his company, and Rose couldn't give a damn if he's around or not, but Lav isn't putting up with any of his overtures." 

Marcus ran his hands over her head, soothing. 

"She likes you much more than she likes me," Esca said quietly. 

"Perhaps she can tell you tend to stick up for the stallion," Marcus replied with a chuckle, and Esca laughed. "Come, are we riding or not?"

They raced to the pasture. Lavender was no match for Gilded Laurel, but Marcus didn't much care about winning. He was just glad to go _fast_. Marcus leaned close over his mare's neck, letting her mane tickle his nose with every breath, and the wind whistled past his ears as the horses' hooves thundered over the cold ground. 

At last they drew abreast of the dead, half-rotting tree that marked the edge of Marcus' property. He breathed deeply, willing his heart to slow as he reigned in Lavender, but could not help but grin at Esca. 

Esca returned the look, and then his eyes lingered in Marcus, sweeping over him slowly and leaving Marcus feeling hot and shaky all over again. He thought: _How did I find this man, and by chance?_

"Marcus, I would kiss you now."

Marcus nodded, and Esca nudged his mount closer. "Here, put your hand on my thigh," Esca whispered, "and I will put my arm around your waist, so you don't fall."

They did exactly that, and as Esca looked at him from so close Marcus thought that this felt even more intimate than what they'd done the night before. Then Esca pressed his mouth to Marcus' mouth, and Marcus forgot about thinking.


	3. Chapter 3

3\. 

They spent the coldest part of the winter tucked in the house, mostly playing cards or reading in front of the fireplace, complaining about how they could not go outside as Cleon ran around their feet. Marcus even cajoled Lucius into joining a few of their games. 

"Oh no, Sir Marcus, I couldn't," Lucius protested, as he protested every time. 

"Nonsense. Please, you can join us for just one, yes?"

The butler sighed, although Marcus was sure it was more for dramatic purposes than actually feeling put out. He brought another chair over, saying in a conspiratorial voice, "Your father and uncle used to drag me into their games, when I was a mere footman. We'd play for biscuits."

"And did you win?"

The butler's mouth twitched in a smile. "More often than not, Sir."

"I shall consider that a challenge, then, Lucius. Esca, would you deal?"

Esca shuffled the cards, then dealt. As Marcus was picking up his hand, a knock echoed through the halls. Lucius hurried to stand. "I'll see who's there, Sir."

"Maybe it's someone who'll join our game; then we could play whist," Esca said to Marcus with a roll of his eyes. Esca hated whist and had not hesitated to tell Marcus so, even as Marcus had attempted to explain that Esca should be well-versed in the finer points of the game. 

Marcus smirked at him, taking in Esca's now-familiar face, his loose cravat exposing his pale neck. Marcus wanted to put his mouth on that visible stretch of skin. "We passed many a slow hour in the Army with that game."

Esca made a small sound of disgust, but underneath the table, his foot pressed against Marcus'.

Lucius returned, saying, "It was a post-carrier, with a few letters."

He handed the small stack to Marcus. Most were marked from his solicitor or from the bank, statements of the interest his money had been accumulating, but one was unfamiliar. He slit the envelope with his pocketknife. 

_16 February 1813_

_My dearest Captain,_

_I have begun this letter so many times that I've lost count, and my desk is littered with discarded drafts. Where does one begin? With "I am alive"? The Grace of God permits it, or perhaps fortune. Someone or something smiled down upon me, and with kindness._

_When I awoke from my recovery, I was told you had been carried from the battlefield with shattered leg, and taken by cart to your Uncle's homestead, gravely wounded. And indeed no one had knowledge of your survival, dear Sir, and my own was not yet assured._

_As I lie in my recovery, I think back on our long conversations, and miss them terribly._

_I wrote you at your Uncle's, but his reply came that you were gone to your own Estate then. In case you wonder - my injuries are such that the Army would have me back in Her Majesty's Service when Spring comes 'round again. If my Captain permits, I would visit him before that time._

_Yours faithfully,_  
 _Liam Mowett_

Marcus could hear Esca saying his name, but to his ears it seemed like Esca was very far away, and he was startled when Esca's fingers curled gently over his wrist. "Easy there," Esca said, worrying playing across his features. "What is it, Marcus?"

Marcus couldn't help his gaze straying back to the letter he held in his hand, still not believing that what he had read was true. He realized he was standing, but did not remember getting up from the chair. Lucius had disappeared from the room.

Esca shook him a little. "What is it?"

"I thought Mowett had died in the battle," Marcus said, and ignored how his voice cracked slightly. "Yet he is alive. I was certain I had seen him die before my eyes." He pressed the letter against Esca's fingers until he took the smudged paper, and waited for him to read it. 

"Surely you are glad of his survival?" Esca asked when he had finished, his eyes seeking Marcus' and holding his gaze. "He was your friend, was he not?"

Marcus nodded, not sure what words he trusted himself to say. "I thought him dead," he whispered finally, knowing he was repeating himself. Then he felt Esca grasp his elbow firmly with warm hands, and found himself forced down to the sofa. Esca crouched between his knees. "Esca, I saw him dead and now this letter comes -"

"Are you certain you saw him dead, or merely wounded before you yourself were hit?" Esca's voice matched his sharp expression, and Marcus took a deep breath, coming back to himself a little more. 

The foggy daze began to lift. "I was convinced."

"I'm sure your friend is no ghost."

"I know," he sighed. "I'll write to Liam and say he is most welcome, and can see for myself that he's well when he arrives."

Esca squeezed his knee. "Come with me. I think you could do with a strong cup of tea. And a dose of whiskey."

He helped Marcus to his feet, and Marcus leaned on him the whole way to the kitchens. "Sit," Esca said, steering him towards the bench and then gently letting him down. A moment later, Esca pressed a teacup with the spirit into his hand. "Drink it while the tea steeps."

Marcus did, wincing slightly at the burn even as it warmed his stomach. "I was never one for taking liquor," he said. "Other soldiers would drink enough to lose their heads, but I didn't want to look that much a fool."

"Surely two mouthfuls will not make you look a fool," Esca huffed. He sat down beside Marcus with his own whiskey in hand. "Your friend, what sort of man is he?"

"Most kind, a very gentle soul. At first when he was assigned as my Lieutenant, I thought him perhaps too gentle for the Service. Then in a skirmish one of our men was wounded - an ugly sword-strike to the face, and Mowett leapt in." Marcus looked down at his cup, remembering the blood and the anguished moans. He shuddered. "He slew the attacker, then dragged the wounded man out of the fight." 

Esca stroked his thigh with a gentle hand, saying nothing for a few moments. Then Marcus drank down the rest of his whisky while Esca tended to the tea, and held out his cup for the steaming liquid to be poured. "Thank you."

"What else shall we do today? The wind outside would freeze your ears off."

Marcus sipped his tea. "Shall we return to cards?"

"Cards," Esca agreed, with a wry smile. 

They went to the study, where Cleon had wandered in and sprawled on the rug. Marcus stepped around him carefully and retrieved the deck of cards as Esca readjusted the position of the low table. Cleon raised his head and gave them both a tired look before flopping back down. Marcus chuckled. "He sleeps more than any animal I've known."

"He's growing," Esca replied, reaching to rub the puppy's head. Cleon shifted closer to his feet. 

"For all that you brought him for me, he is surely your animal," Marcus said with a laugh. He felt better and said as much. "Thank you, Esca."

"It was nothing. Have we lost Lucius for our game?"

"I think so."

Quietly, Esca said, "He doesn't like to see you upset. And neither do I."

Marcus reached across the table and squeezed Esca's hand in reply.

 _You are most welcome to visit us here in Cardiganshire,_ he wrote in response to Mowett. _There is no need for another letter to announce any visit you might make - do travel at your own convenience and as your health allows, and we will make arrangements in the house once you are here._

 

On an evening in late March, Marcus was laying on his back on the sitting room floor, carefully elevating his leg up and down with a bag of buckshot tied to his ankle, when a dripping-wet Esca came running in, calling his name with Marcus' heavy coat in his hands. 

"What in God's name is the matter?" Marcus asked in alarm, carefully lowering his leg and then sitting up. "Why are you wet and shivering?"

"The horses have gotten out and gone running across the pasture; I cannot catch all of them." He reached down and helped Marcus to stand. "And I'm wet because it's raining, and the rain is freezing. Will you help?"

"Of course I will." Their horses were loose, of course he would help Esca fetch them back to the stable. He only hoped they hadn't gone too far. It seemed to Marcus that all of then, eight in total now, had learned this plot of land as their home. Perhaps they'd only been spooked by the storm. 

He followed Esca out the kitchen doors, buttoning his coat up as they went. Esca was right, the rain was bitterly cold, immediately soaking his hair and running down his face. The wind howled, angry and miserable all at once. Esca gripped his hand, and hard. "This way," he shouted. "I hope!"

Marcus yanked his coat tighter around his neck with his free hand and followed Esca towards the East. "I'm worried if it gets much colder tonight this rain may freeze, and be too slick to come back out until tomorrow after sunrise," Esca yelled over the wind. 

"Damn this dark!" Marcus yelled back, squinting into it. He could just barely make out trees with bare branches, still weeks from budding. 

They struggled through the storm for a while, then Esca pointed. "There!"

He could see shapes that looked like the work pony, Frost, and the two smaller mares. "Mount Anise if you can, and grab Frost," he called. "I'll get Rose."

Her mane was heavy and wet, but Marcus heaved himself up. It had been years since he'd ridden bareback. He wiped at his eyes and looked round for Esca. "All right, Esca?"

"Yes!" 

Marcus grinned at him through the cold rain, a hot rush flooding through him. "I haven't mucked about in weather like this since the Army!"

"Having fun?" Esca came closer and Marcus could see the flash of white teeth as he smiled. 

"I believe I am, even in this chill."

Esca laughed. "Come, then - I think the others went this way."

They were forced to pick their way carefully across the ground since it was so dark, but then there came a break in the rain. In a flash of moonlight Marcus spied the other horses huddled together beneath a tree, looking pathetic and forlorn, as though they knew they should not have run off. 

"Like naughty children," Esca called with amusement in his voice. They circled the poor, sodden lot, and urged them in the direction of the stables. 

Once inside with the lamps lit, the rainwater began to steam from the horses' hides. Without needing to confer, Marcus and Esca rubbed them all down, and brushed out their manes and tails so the hair would not dry in a knotted mess. Lavendar nudged at Marcus' shoulder like she was sorry, and he laid his cheek upon her velvety nose. "You musn't follow them everywhere," he chided in a whisper, stroking her neck. 

He and Esca finished the task in companionable silence, then made sure all the stall doors were latched. He leaned heavily on Esca's shoulder as they walked back to the house. 

Once inside, they helped each other out of their dripping coats, and hung them over chairs in front of the kitchen fire. Marcus shivered, pushing his hair back off his forehead. "It's too long," he muttered at Esca's questioning look. "I should have it cut."

"I could help with that," Esca replied. He wrung out his scarf over the hearth, and the water sizzled as it hit. "Whenever you like."

"Another hidden talent?"

"One of many," he responded with a sly smile. His hand slid along Marcus' elbow. "We should go upstairs."

"Yes."

In the bedroom, Esca yanked at Marcus' loose cravat. "Why do you insist on wearing this? All these clothes, Marcus. For what purpose?"

"We can't all run around in a leather apron and shoddy trousers," Marcus answered, grinning. He sat down on the bed because he could stand no longer, and Esca came to straddle his thighs. "Ah, careful."

"Of course." Esca kissed the corner of his mouth. "Am I not always careful?"

Marcus turned his head to kiss him fully for a moment, tasting the rainwater still on his skin, before saying, "Indeed you are." 

Esca slid off his lap to unlace his boots and tug them off. Marcus untied his cravat, slipping it off while Esca removed his own boots. He dropped it on the bedside table. Esca stood and Marcus caught him around the waist. "Soon the weather will change, no more of this cold and bitter damp to cause such a seizure of my muscles."

"Good. Then we can hunt." He ducked to kiss Marcus again. 

Marcus again felt that bright flare in his chest, as a great gust of wind pressed against the house, making the windows rattle and the candlelight flicker. He clutched at Esca, feeling the shape of him beneath the damp linen shirt. 

"Get these clothes off, come on," Esca murmured into his ear. "And your hair is still wet."

"Someone bade me follow them out into a rainstorm," Marcus replied, laughing, as he let Esca pull his shirt from his body, and rub the material over his head. "Are you satisfied now?"

Esca breathed hot against his neck. "No."

Marcus moved back on the bed, tugging Esca with him. "I hope the horses are grateful."

"Ssh, Marcus." Esca stripped off his own shirt, then reached for the fastenings on Marcus' trousers, blunt fingertips brushing the skin beneath. "Can you?" he asked, slipping a hand inside, and Marcus groaned as Esca touched his cock. "I'll take that as a yes."

Marcus squirmed out of the trousers, then pushed at Esca's clothing. Eventually, it was all in crumpled piles on the floor, and Esca pulled the blankets around them in a cocoon to trap the body-warmed air. Marcus caught Esca's jaw between his palms and kissed him hard, as Esca's hand worked his length until Marcus was shaking. And then Esca held him until he shook no more. 

Marcus said softly but very clearly, "Thank you."

In the candlelight, Esca gave him that look that said plainly there was no need for gratitude. His hair stuck up every which-way, and while his grey eyes were narrowed at Marcus, a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Marcus lifted a hand to flick a thumb over Esca's pale flat nipples, and was rewarded with a growl and a biting kiss. 

"Shall I?" Marcus asked, sliding his hand down Esca's chest and belly to curl fingers lightly around his hardness. 

"Well, hold firmer than that," was the huffed reply, and Marcus did not mind obliging in the slightest.

The weeks flew by, and the weather improved with every day. The trees began to bud with pale green, and the slumber of the fields gradually gave way to brown earth through which all manner of flora started to rise. Marcus' leg ceased to ache so horribly, and for the first time since the wound, he felt as though he was healing in both body and mind. 

Esca played no small part in this, at his side more often than not, riding with him long hours in the fresh air and learning every corner of the Aquila estate, caring for the horses. Three of the mares were now pregnant, and Marcus found he could not help but be enthused about the offspring, especially as Esca was so devoted to the whole lot of them. 

"You know Ruby Slippers is to be yours, when you leave," Marcus said to him one day. "And whatever price her foal will fetch - half of that money will be yours as well."

Esca looked at him quickly, then back to his gentle grooming of the mare in question. Marcus scooped a palmful of oats from the bucket he held and offered them to Frost. Perhaps Esca had not realized that Marcus had bought Ruby Slippers in his name. He doubted that Marcellus would have told Esca of the fact.

Later that same night, he found Esca in the study, stretched out on the rug in his shirtsleeves, with a book of Milton's poems. Cleon lay curled against him, his head on Esca's arm. When Marcus entered, the puppy's tail thumped a few times against the floor, but he did not rise. Marcus thought: _I would not get up from such a comfortable spot against Esca's warm body, either_. 

He laid down on the sofa and closed his eyes, letting one arm hang down to skim lightly over Esca's form but with no intent. Occasionally he could hear Esca murmur a word or two, here and there a few lines, but mostly they were in silence, and Marcus was content. 

 

It was half through in April when Mowett came to Iolair, his carriage arriving late in the day as Marcus searched through the shelves in the study, looking for a book he could remember his father reading once. 

"Sir Marcus, it is Mr. Mowett for you," Lucius said from the doorway. 

Marcus turned to see Mowett there, hat in hand. "Liam!" He hurried to embrace Mowett."I was so glad to receive your letter, I cannot even express."

"Captain." Mowett squeezed his shoulders, grinning. His pale brown hair curled down over his forehead, but Marcus could see the edge of a vivid, still-red scar. "It does my heart good to see you well, Sir."

"And I feel the same. But you must call me Marcus, please." Marcus smiled at him, feeling a surge of joy. "How was your journey?"

"We met the letter-carrier along the way, and I handed those over to your butler. Otherwise, it was an uneventful trip. You do own a lovely stretch of land, I must say." Mowett returned the smile, and Marcus saw the other scars that faded off the side of his face into his hair. 

He answered, "I cannot claim credit for the land, it was my father's before me. I daresay I came close to it not being mine at all, but here we are. Could I get you a drink, before we take supper?"

"A cup of tea would do wonders for my constitution."

Marcus rang for Mrs. Valens, but it was Esca who came with the tea-tray after several minutes. His expression was guarded and slightly unsure. Marcus hadn't seen that look on his face in weeks and was slightly unsettled. 

"Mrs. Valens was directly in the middle of mashing the potatoes," Esca said to Marcus. To Mowett, he said, "You must be Lieutenant Mowett. Marcus has spoken so highly of you."

"Really?" Mowett laughed, raising an eyebrow in Marcus' direction. "I'm sure he's done me a kindness in saying such things, I wasn't much of an officer."

Marcus waved a hand. "Such a falsehood." 

"I'll see about our meal," Esca said, drawing back. 

"Wait, Esca -" Marcus called, but Esca had already left the room. Marcus frowned after him. 

"Your valet?" Mowett asked, blowing across the surface of his tea. 

"No, no, my -" Perhaps Mowett would not understand. "Companion."

Supper passed quietly enough; Mowett very calmly told Marcus of what had transpired after he'd woken up in a medical tent. Most of what Marcus could remember of that day was blood-red and the smell of cordite, and Mowett did not remember much more than Marcus had been told after he'd woken up in Uncle Aquila's house, but he was glad for the information all the same. 

Esca said little, asking a short question here and there. To Marcus it looked as though he was keeping a rather watchful eye on Mowett, which made no sense at all. He disappeared shortly after, saying he was going to check on the horses. Marcus did not see him again until much later, after Mowett had cited exhaustion and retired to the prepared guest room. He was in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea, when Esca came in the side door with Cleon at his heels. "Esca," he said. 

"Marcus."

Marcus bent to pet Cleon, scratching behind the puppy's ears. "Is something the matter?"

"No, no matter," Esca said. He knocked mud from his boots. It seemed to Marcus that something was indeed wrong, but the look on Esca's face told him it might be best not to push. 

"I will stay in my own room tonight," Esca murmured, as he passed.

"Wait." Marcus caught his arm, confused. "You haven't stayed in that room since we came here."

"I'll be in my own room," Esca repeated. He pulled away and continued out of the kitchens. 

Marcus found he no longer wanted tea. Instead, he warmed a little milk, and sat on the bench as he drank it, with Cleon near his feet. The puppy whined softly, pressing his nose to Marcus' ankle. "I don't know either, Cleon," Marcus muttered, reaching down to stroke his silky head. "My bed will indeed be cold tonight."

Cleon whined again. 

Marcus finished his milk and washed out the cup. "Come on then," he said to Cleon.

But even with the warm animal stretched out on top of the blankets, Marcus still shivered. If he was to be honest with himself, it was more from loneliness than from any chill temperature; it had been several weeks since the nights had been that cold. Esca had shared his bed every night since they had arrived at Iolair and Marcus felt his absence keenly. 

He laid awake for what felt like hours before throwing back the sheets in disgust and sitting up. If Esca would not come to him, then he would go to Esca. The room was only next door. 

He went barefoot, and knocked gently on the closed door. "Esca," he whispered. 

Esca did not answer right away, and Marcus knocked again. And then again. As he was about to return to his own room, the door opened a crack. "Marcus, is that you?"

"Are you unwell?" he asked hurriedly. "Is that why you will not share my bed tonight?"

"I'm not sick."

Marcus couldn't make out Esca's face in the dark, and that bothered him. He swallowed. "What is it, then?"

"You should return to your room."

"But Esca -"

"I will follow, I swear."

He stumbled back to his bedroom, not believing Esca would follow until he felt familiar hands on his waist. "Marcus," he heard Esca breathe. "I only meant..."

"Meant what?" Marcus turned, pressing his mouth to Esca's temple. 

"Did you not realize? Your friend, he wants to share your bed. Honestly, you must have noticed - the way his gaze stayed on you, the way his hands lingered when you touched." Esca's hands brushed over his shoulders. "I didn't want to be in the way."

Marcus had noticed no such thing, and said as much. Esca snorted in disbelief. 

Marcus swatted at him. "Honestly, Esca. If Liam has been making these overtures you say, then I have overlooked them, and thought nothing of it. I don't look upon him that way, and have no desire to." 

Nothing of that sort had ever passed between them while in the Army. Nights spent huddled together in the cold, yes, but there had never been any intent on Marcus' part. But perhaps Esca was right about Mowett. 

"This is your bed, too," he murmured, leading Esca by the hand. "Come."

Cleon licked Esca's fingers happily as they climbed into the bed, then settled down again at their feet. Esca wiped his fingers on Marcus' nightshirt, and Marcus snorted. He pulled Esca to him. _Your bed, too,_ he thought, _I thought you knew._

He'd nearly drifted off when there was a knock at the door, then another knock. He felt Esca's arms tighten around him. 

"Marcus?" Mowett called quietly. "It's Liam..."

Marcus did not answer. He listened to Esca's soft breathing until he could hear Mowett's footsteps fading away. 

Esca whispered, "Told you," and shifted closer against him.

Mowett stayed two more days, and did not mention his nighttime walk to Marcus' room. They talked of the service, but did not dwell very much on the last battle. Marcus watched Esca look at Mowett with something akin to coolness in his expression, but he was cordial, and on the last day even offered to lend the other man a horse to go hunting. 

"No, my carriage should be here soon," Mowett replied, regret plain in his voice. He moved his hair from his eyes, and Marcus realized he was always careful to keep the worst scar covered. Then he checked his pocketwatch, and said, "In fact, it should be here now," then held out both hands to Marcus. "Thank you for the hospitality."

Marcus embraced him, then watched as Esca shook his hand. "I'll walk you out, Liam."

Lucius appeared with Mowett's bag. The carriage was indeed waiting in front of the house. They stopped on the steps as Lucius went to speak with the carriage driver. 

"Your friend, he's very possessive of you," Mowett said, his voice low and quiet. "Forgive me the question, but -"

Marcus cut him off with a sharp, "He's my husband."

He'd never thought of Esca in that term, but Marcus was forced to admit to himself now that it was the correct one. That hot, bright feeling in his chest when Esca was close, it _was_ love, despite what Marcus had tried to tell himself. He'd thought what he felt for Esca was the same as what he'd felt for Mowett while in Her Majesty's Service, but it wasn't. His feelings for Esca were so much more. 

Mowett was staring at him, a confused expression on his face. "Marcus?"

"Be well, Liam," Marcus said firmly. "Your driver is waiting."

It was a warm day when Marcus, Esca, and Lucius rode out to the far western edge of the property to repair a stretch of fence. Between the three of them, they got the timber in place, and Marcus hammered it in while Esca and Lucius held it steady. When they were done, Lucius wiped the sweat from his face, looked between the two of them, and said he was going to take Frost back to the stables. 

Esca had been strangely contemplative lately, but Marcus hadn't wanted to push. As with all things since they had grown comfortable with one another, Marcus figured that in time, Esca would tell him what was troubling him. 

They mounted their horses and cantered along the boundary, checking the rest of the fence. Then as they reached the first thick stand of birch trees, Esca reined Anise to a halt. Marcus came up beside him and waited, drawing a hand caressingly down Lavendar's neck. 

Presently Esca drew a deep breath. "Marcus, I need to tell you -" And then he stopped, the breath catching. 

"What is it?"

"One of the letters that the Lieutenant brought was addressed to me. It was from a solicitor in London."

Marcus wheeled Lavendar around to look straight at Esca. "And?"

"It seems I had family." Esca swallowed; Marcus could see his throat working. "An uncle, on my mother's side. I did not know him, or even know of him. And now it comes to pass that I am the last remaining Cunoval, so some money was left to me."

Marcus froze, fear striking through him. He tried to catch Esca's gaze, but Esca would not meet his eyes. "How much money?"

Esca was silent for a long moment before he answered, "Six thousand pounds."

That was more than - it was nearly seven times what Marcus had promised Esca for the marriage. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel his temples throbbing. His hands hurt, suddenly, and he looked down to find he'd twisted his fingers in Lavendar's reins so hard that the blood could not flow to his fingertips. He shook his hands free and said, "When will you leave?"

"Leave?"

"Clearly you have no more need of my measly eight hundred pounds."

Esca's head snapped up. "Don't be a bloody fool."

"You mean to wait out the pay, then?" Marcus could not help himself, could not stop the snarl from twisting his mouth, did not know how to ease the urge to mourn the sudden and unexpected death of their closeness, which had somehow manifested itself in a coldness that settled about his shoulders like a cloak. 

"I mean I will not leave you." 

Marcus stared at him, and Esca said, quieter this time, "I have no wish to leave you, Marcus. You - you would have to send me away, and with force, for the only place I feel at home is by your side."

"Oh," Marcus breathed. He felt himself shake slightly with the relief.

Esca brought Anise closer, and reached to curve his hand over Marcus' knee. His eyes were bright, and his tone firm. "When first you brought the marriage solution to me, I said yes only for the money. I thought I could pretend to be cordial, when I felt only anger towards my situation. In honesty, Marcus, that feeling did not last very long at all, for you offered your friendship so easily, and asked so little of me. I should have seen right from the start that you needed companionship, when I felt I should act more as your servant. And then you offered your bed..." 

Esca's gaze darkened, and his grip on Marcus' knee grew firmer. "Don't send me away."

"I would never," Marcus murmured. Esca brought his horse closer still, ghosting his mouth over Marcus' jaw before settling into a kiss. Marcus cupped a hand around the back of Esca's neck, kissing back with all his love exposed, whispering into Esca's mouth his desperate-feeling desire for Esca to stay, and stay _always_.

After a few moments, the horses grew displeased, and Marcus and Esca broke apart. Marcus found he was so overcome with emotion that he could not look at Esca, and had to stare out across the purple field. But he reached out his hand, and Esca took it. Marcus looked at their entwined fingers, and then finally up at Esca's smiling face. 

"Come," he said. "Let us ride, now, through the heather."


End file.
